“Alright chumps,” said Sagar. “Here’s the plan.”

They stood in their stolen Imperial armour looking at the large, dirty, structure that was Sirra Main Station from the nearby street. Both hands of the clock that adorned its front had almost reached the number twelve, though the longer still had ten more minutes to traverse.

“Basically, there’s an express sleeper train leaving for the Manolian border at midnight. They’re taking troops down there to amass a land invasion force.”

“Why don’t they just invade by airship,” Ryn asked, “like they did here?”

“Because of our lightning projection,” said Nuthea.

“Huh?”

“We can blow airships out of the sky with lightning. Land forces are a little trickier to hit.”

“In any case,” said Sagar, “we need to be on that train. So what we’re going to do is go in the station entrance, find the correct train, and board it, as though we’re part of the invasion force that is being transported there.”

“That’s your plan?!” said Elrann.

“Yes.”

“So the plan is basically: We walk onto the train?”

“Yes.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Sagar’s mouth twitched. “Rrrr. It’s a fine plan! We’re in Imperial armour, aren’t we? Nobody will know who we are.”

“It’s the best plan we’ve got,” said Nuthea, “and our mission is urgent. Come on; it’s nearly time.” She drew a deep breath. “Let us go.”

Ryn walked towards the station with the others.

He went through the doors, whole body tense, hyper-aware of every movement in his Imperial armour.

The helmet, while not heavy, was stuffy, and he could feel his own shallow breaths on the front of his face. While it offered him some protection from head-wounds and discovery, it also obscured his vision to a horizontal slit that disappeared into darkness at either side, so that he had to turn his head if he wanted to see into his periphery.

The inside of Sirra’s Main Station was massive. The high ceiling sloped up into the pointed roof they had seen from the outside, from which hung lanterns on chains, lending the lobby an eerie glow.

At the far end a series of desks broke up metal barriers at intervals. Soldiers walked to and from these barriers in the same armour as the companions were wearing, like a self-organising colony of black-shelled worker ants.

“Pssst, Ryn,” whispered Cid next to him. “Don’t lose focus.”

Ryn shook his head briefly and reconcentrated on walking. It was extremely important that none of them lgot separated, as they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between each other.

Although Ryn fancied he’d still be able to tell Nuthea a mile off. She walked in front of him, head held high, something very slightly out of place about the way she tried to keep her gait graceful and soft-footed. Despite her clunky disguise she was still trying to walk like royalty.

Gods, I hope nobody sees through us, Ryn thought, though he didn’t know why he was still addressing his thoughts to the gods. You can take the princess out of the palace, but you can’t take the palace out of the princess.

Of their party Vish alone was not wearing armour, though his black attire didn’t seem to attract any unwanted attention from the Morekemians. If anything, the soldiers seemed to give him a slightly wide berth. Apparently Shadowfingers were people to be avoided. That could be to their advantage.

Sagar led them to one of the desks. They took their place in a queue for it and shuffled along a few paces every time another soldier got clearance and went through the barrier.

Ryn tried as hard as he could to slow his rapid breaths.

When they got to the front of the line the grunt behind the desk said “Destination?” without looking up from the papers in front of him.

“Manolia,” said Sagar.

“Unit?”

A pause.

“Er…” said Sagar.

Panic gripped Ryn. Apparently Sagar hadn’t thought this far ahead.

The grunt looked up from his desk. Ryn could see the man’s grey eyes through his visor, which narrowed.

“What unit are you with, soldier? It’s a simple question.”

What do we do?

“They’re with me,” said Vish all of a sudden. “They’re serving as my retinue for a mission.” The grunt turned his head then practically jumped out of his seat.

“Oh! My apologies, Shadowfinger Vish, I didn’t see you there! Please, come right through.” He pulled a lever on his side of the desk and the metal barrier in front of them swung up.

Ryn had to make a concerted effort not to run through. They passed under the barrier and into the walled corridor beyond. It seemed there would be other advantages to having the Shadowfinger with them too.

The corridor opened onto a dark, dusty platform. Alongside it stood a series of conjoined rectangular steel boxes with glass windows So this is a train. They followed the stream of soldiers on board.

A soldier with his helmet off stood just inside the door they entered by

“Keep it moving, soldiers!” he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth, a vein throbbing on the temple of his close-shaven head. “We haven’t got all night! We need to be in Manolia by dawn! Train leaves in five minutes! Eight to a compartment! Get on with it!”

It was cramped inside and Ryn suddenly became worried that he was going to lose sight of his companions in the crush of soldiers. His pulse began to pound between his ears as he walked the narrow passage that ran the length of the train, passing closed doors.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

That was Sagar walking in front of him, he was sure of it, and—he glanced quickly over his shoulder—there was Vish just behind him. But where were the others? Were they still following? How were they going to make sure they all ended up in the same compartment?

We didn’t think this through properly!

Before Ryn could panic any further, Sagar turned off to the right through the first open door he came to. Ryn followed.

Inside was a small room with two cushioned benches that faced each other from either wall. A window looked out onto the dimness of the platform.

Ryn sat on one of the benches next to Sagar, following his lead. They watched the door. In came Vish, who sat at the end of the opposite bench. That’s three. More soldiers entered. Four, five, six…seven! Eight! Poodoopoodoopoodoopoodoo.

The last soldier in shut the door. “Phew!” he said in a voice Ryn didn’t recognise. He collapsed onto the bench opposite Ryn. “Bad enough that they fly us non-stop to Imfis with barely any rations, then they march us to the station soon as we get here! I need some sleep.”

The soldier took off his helmet and rested it on his knee. He had a friendly, grinning face and mop of brown hair. He was young--maybe in his early twenties. Ryn found that he liked the man immediately, which confused him.“Quit your whining, Tillbrook,” said the soldier whom he had sat next to. This one took off his helmet too. A somewhat older man with greying hair, a hooked nose, and a scar on one cheek. “This is nothing. In the Umbar campaign I flew for two days straight without anything to eat, then got dropped straight into combat. At least here we’re getting a run-up.” He looked at Ryn sat on the bench across from him. “We’re off duty now, ya know. Aren’t you going to take your helmet off?”

Not wanting to appear out of the ordinary, Ryn lifted his hands to remove his helmet, but Sagar elbowed him in the side.

Oh yeah, that’s right. Three of us have bounties on our heads. Ryn’s cheeks blushed hot and all of a sudden he was very glad that he was wearing the helmet.

“We prefer to keep them on,” Sagar said.

The older soldier frowned at him. “What in the hells for?”

Uh-oh.

“They’re with me,” said Vish, from further along the bench the soldiers were sitting on.

The soldiers each turned to look at who had spoken, then jolted with surprise.

“A Shadowfinger!” said the younger one.

“Shadowfinger Vish!” said the older. “If I may sir, what are you doing in here with us rank and file?”

“I’ve been redeployed to Manolia at the last minute on a classified mission. This was the easiest way to get me there, but the officers’ coach was full. These three are serving as my retinue, but they must keep their helmets on at all times. No questions asked.”

The soldiers looked at each other for a moment, then the older one said, “Of course, sir.”

Ryn’s shoulders relaxed a little. It seemed that they weren’t going to be queried any further.

Just then a high-pitched whistle sounded and the train began to strain forwards slowly. The platform started to scroll past through the windows, and the pistons turning the train’s wheels began to pound out an increasingly fast rhythm.

In moments they were out of the station, moving through the white buildings of Sirra which glinted in moon- and lantern-light, and before long they were again traversing the darkness of the Imfisi plains. Only now they weren’t just walking across them; now they were traveling much faster.

“Well,” said the younger soldier, “I’m completely beat. You mind if we get some sleep?”

“Good idea,” said Vish for the rest of them.

The two un-helmeted soldiers stood and pulled down another bench Ryn hadn’t realised was built into the wall above the one they had been sitting on. It folded out and hung suspended from it by two chains at either end. He, Sagar and whoever else was sitting on his bench—Nuthea? Elrann? Cid?—did the same with the bunk on their side.

With the two bunks folded down, you could just about fit two people lying next to one other onto each of the four benches now available in the carriage.

“We’ll take the top,” said the older soldier deferentially to Vish, and he and the younger soldier climbed up.

Ryn took one of the spaces on the bottom bunk on his side. Sagar lay next to him next to him, in such a way that their helmeted heads were next to each other.

“Night all,” said Tilbrook.

And then there was just darkness and the gentle rattle and chug of the train as it travelled the Imfisi plains.

Chukkachukachukkachuckkachukkachukka.

Ryn stared up at the grubby underside of the bunk above him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Well, this was some predicament they had got themselves into. Aboard an Imperial-commandeered train bound for Manolia, stuck in a carriage with two genuine Imperial soldiers which meant they couldn’t even talk openly. Maybe they should kill the soldiers while they slept? No, that was thinking like Sagar. Even if they were from the Empire, these soldiers didn’t seem to be murderous monsters like Vorr. They seemed like they were just trying to get by and do a job to earn a living. They were just following orders. Nuthea was right; it wouldn’t be right to kill them in cold blood. Hopefully the pirate wouldn’t do anything stupid. He hadn’t so far, at least.

What was Ryn even doing here? Mum. Dad. Cleasor. Find Vorr. Get Vorr. Kill Vorr. Stay with Nuthea. But he wasn’t even certain that Vorr would be coming this way--it was just his best guess. Familiar images started to crowd in on him, invading his mind’s eye. His mother being pierced by a sword. His father’s eyes going out of focus. The Imperial General laughing in his face. How was he going to get to sleep like this, without the cool of the open air and the reassuring chatter of his traveling companions to lull him into unconsciousness?

He thought he would try to talk to Sagar on the bench next to him for a little while. Even that might be better than just lying here in the dark with his memories. Might.

He titled his head a little to the side. He couldn’t see inside Sagar’s visor, but the pirate’s head was facing him

“Sagar?” Ryn whispered.

Nothing. Then: “No,” whispered back a noble, feminine voice after a moment, “it’s me.” Nuthea! Not Sagar at all.

Ryn could barely believe his luck.

He better say something else.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, quite alright. Stop talking and let me go to sleep.”

That stung.

For a moment there was only the chukkachukkachukka of the train.

“Ryn?”

“...yes?”

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean that. The truth is I’m not alright. I’m...scared.” A rare admission of vulnerability from the lightning-slinging princess.

“What are you scared of?” asked Ryn. Stupid question. What wasn’t there to be scared of right now?

“I’m scared that we won’t make it to Manolia,” Nuthea whispered. “I’m scared that we’ll be discovered. I’m scared that the Emperor will find all the Jewels and take over the world.”

That’s quite a lot to be scared of, fair enough, Ryn thought. Instead he said, “I know. Me too. I’m scared of all those things, and I’m scared that I’ll never be able to find Vorr again, or that I’ll find him but I won’t be able to kill him when I find him.”

A pause. “Ryn… Are you sure that killing Vorr is what you really want?”

Ryn’s brow furrowed inside his helmet. Why would she say something like that? He thought of Vorr again, with his thick-set jaw andflaming red hair, laughing in his face. His hands grew hotter and the tips of his fingers tingled.

“There’s no way I’m not goingto kill him. He murdered my parents and destroyed my hometown. How could I ever not want to kill him?”

Nuthea took a while to speak again. Eventually she whispered, “It is not the Way of the One. The Way of the One is to forgive.”

There she goes with her One stuff again. Ryn wasn’t in the mood for this right now. But he didn’t want to be harsh with Nuthea, especially if she was feeling scared at the moment. “Alright,” he said, “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.”

“But Nuthea?”

“Yes?”

“It’s okay to be scared. It makes sense. Like I said, I’m scared too. But you’ve got a lot of people around you right now to take care of you. Me. Sagar. Elrann. Cid. And I guess Vish too. We’ll take care of you and make sure you get to Manolia, alright?” I’ll take care of you, he added in his head, but he didn’t quite find the courage to say it.

“Thank you, Ryn. I am glad of that.”

Ryn smiled inside his helmet.

“Hey lovebirds!” someone whispered from the bunk above them.

Ryn spasmed and nearly fell off the bench. He hadn’t realised anyone else could hear them.

“Stop talking so we can get some sleep!” Elrann whispered again.

“Yeah!” whispered someone else from above. Not Sagar too! “You’re lucky those two bucketheads are asleep, or you might have given us away! Quit yammering and go to sleep!”

“Sorry…” Ryn whispered back.

Quiet resumed.

Ryn turned away from Nuthea. His blush had come back to his cheeks and he was even more grateful no one could see it. As it slowly faded along with the tingling in his fingers, he thought of their conversation, listened to the chukkachukkachukka of the train, rocked with its gentle movements, and eventually felt himself slipping into sleep.